The Many First Kisses of One Hibiki Wataru

Empty… Empty… Empty… 

It’s an evaluation that fully resounds, much like his name. And it’s an evaluation that has continued to echo ever since the cherry blossoms bloomed, when he donned the blue of his blazer for the first time.

Is he more disappointed in the fact itself? The hope that seduced him, with whispers of potential fulfillment? Or himself for believing for even a moment? He cannot say. Yet, despite this ambiguity, it isn’t a complete woe. Within the disappointment, there remains the comfort of truth.

It emerged long ago, blooming like a flower among weeds: solitude. After countless first impressions, made as the individual by the name of Hibiki Wataru, he has come to be familiar with it. The pregnant pauses, the discerning eyes just previously filled with mirth, and the weight of exceptionality will inevitably lead way for solitude to shine.

Wataru smiles, taking note of one such exceptionality, sprouting from the blades of grass next to the path he wanders. 

There may never be others of his ilk in this lifetime. That is only a reasonable conclusion, and nothing to shed tears over. But it’s his job as an actor to create something out of nothing, in the same way he conjures roses as the role of “magician.” So even if he isn’t bothered, or even if he is, he must entertain this angst for the sake of intrigue and character.

Passing by the large fountain situated in the middle of his path, he continues to hum, walking backwards only when the image of a failed sea burial completely registers.

Glub, glub, glub… Pockets of air from underneath the face-down boy bubble to the surface.

Wataru blinks, leaning over stone and casting a reflection of his face onto the back of the boy’s head. Interesting. He scoots a little to the side, better matching the orientation of his face to the head. 

Oho! He uprights himself, stroking his chin. An original play about a man’s hair growing faster than him—to the point of covering even his face—would be comedic indeed!

Glub… glub…

Oh, right. 

Wataru leans back over the water, scoops his hands underneath torso, and narrowly misses out on his Lucky Pervert moment, pressing up against some ribs instead. “One-two!” he grunts, hoisting the boneless body up and over, and he lays him onto the pavement below.

The boy, however, does not stir, even when his head hits the ground a tad harder than Wataru intends for it to do.

He blinks again, staring at the wet, ethereal features of the boy’s face. His lashes glisten with the overhead sun, framed by long strands of hair bluer than his own… It is a wonder that he feels more breathless than the boy himself.

Shifting the boy’s red tie to slip off of his torso, Wataru presses an ear against him, displacing some water from the fabric of his shirt. Badump… Badump… It beats languidly, but steadily. And in between these heartbeats, he feels the slightest lifting movement. Hmm~? The weight of his ponytail drags as he lifts his head.

“You have the makings of a performer if you are so committed to near-death.”

Still, no response.

“Or could it be that you’re truly a Sleeping Beauty in need of a kiss?”

Drip. Only a droplet of water from the boy’s lashes makes discernible movement. 

“Very well. You wish for me to ascertain your skill, do you? So be it~”

He shifts on his knees, mindful of the frame. He imagines it must be picturesque to an observer before them, witnessing the refraction of water made behind them, the reflection of the world made by puddles below, and a dashing young man such as himself about to “save” a fair beauty. It would be a crime if the manner of his actions were crude. No, no, that would not do at all with such a setting.

His hair cooperates with him this time, caressing his shoulder and lessening its weight as he tilts his head downwards. Hand hovering, Wataru bats his eyelashes once, looking concerned for the boy until he is captured by unwarranted desire—the mere shudder of it spreading to his fingertips. He focuses his gaze on the boy’s eyelids, letting concern return and his hand’s place to remain chaste.

The boy’s head tilts upward, guided by gentle pressure underneath his chin, and his lips make the slightest part for Wataru’s to meet them. Peck.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…

Light seeps through the slits of his eyes once Wataru draws away with hesitation. For just a moment, that deep pit from earlier, or from even earlier, seizes him in entirety. And he reaches for it, seizing it in return. Empty- Fear. Panic. Dread. Apprehension. Worry.

His eyebrows furrow and he prays, channeling the emotion through the most delicate of movements in his facial muscles, before resolutely opening his eyes to the result of his actions.

Drip…

So it would seem he should be disappointed again, to find no fellow performer.

Wataru presses once more against his lips, this time breathing into him, like how sun would penetrate into oceans and allow the propagation of life. His fingers curl against the boy’s jawline, cupping his cheek, and the angle of his lips shift, with Wataru pressing deeper to more effectively trap air. “ Hah- ” He continues to inhale then exhale, feeling the slight bloat of skin against palm.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand…

His eyes might have been playing tricks on him, emerging from darkness once more, but he swears he sees a flash of eyeball when he separates for air one more time.

Could it be…? My, my. He did not consider that this Sleeping Beauty may be lewd. He could have received better results if his character entertained his perversions after all.

Peck. “Mm-?!”

The boy snaps his eyes open when the press of tongue upon palate excites him, surging him up into a sitting position and having him slowly bring his fingertips to his bottom lip. He blinks, his hand lowers, and he finally looks him in the eyes.

They’re such vibrant green, Wataru lets the scene stall.

“ ‘Wish…’ ”

Wataru breaks his stare. “Pardon?”

“Your ‘wish’... What will it be?” the boy clarifies in a slow, magnetic voice. “I will ‘grant’ one, as compensation for ‘saving’ me.”

Drip. The puddle beneath them creates a ripple as the explanation sinks in. All the while, the boy remains peering and peering with such expectant, yet patient eyes, Wataru loses sight of the scene even more. From the depths, from nothing into something, he finds his own thoughts emerging.

This is a passing encounter, he recognizes—a transaction of time and selfish motives.

But, if possible… It doesn’t have to be for eternity, but if, for even the briefest of moments, there exists another entity to entertain dramaturgy with him again, as this boy has shown…

The boy serenely smiles at him.

“Your ‘wish’ has been received.” 

And before Wataru can respond, the boy picks himself up and walks away with swaying arms, off to who knows where. Slosh, slosh, slosh… His shoes stretch the only evidence of their interaction out into streaks of smaller puddles, in defiance of how relatively short the conclusion of it was.

Getting up, Wataru watches the boy slowly shrink into the horizon, wondering if he truly was heard, before turning and ultimately returning to his own.

Come to think of it, that boy is in 1-A with him, isn’t he?

Wataru has been forgoing attendance in the idol course lately in favor of the theater course, but certainly… Their paths should cross again.

 

 

 

The idol course really isn’t what Yumenosaki made it out to be. In just one short week, Wataru might dare to declare disillusionment. He thinks it even lives up to being woesome. Not even an informal change of coursework has helped the slightest in his plight, nor has his decision to practice where he should feel as free as a bird. 

Creak.

His script’s pages flutter closed as he lowers his arm, looking to the sole entrance (and exit) of the rooftop.

“Oh, excuse me.”

The boy nears his height, but comes just a tad shorter. His eyes are likewise similar, mirroring his own shade in albeit a bluer-tinted one. Around the collar of his shirt, there is no indication of grade level, but is instead adorned with an elegant, frilly, and jabot-like form. The cute, pink shade of his hair, in contrast to the noble state of his dress and posture, is striking.

Wataru settles on politeness that’s befitting a potential senior. “Did you have business here?”

“No… Not exactly. I was simply hoping to obtain a higher vantage point.”

The boy starts walking towards him.

“I’m in search of someone, you see. Ever since I saw him on the first day of school, it became imperative what I have to do.” 

His eyes alight with passion as he joins him near the railing.

“I need to ask for his hand—for him to create a union with me, and birth art the likes of which none have seen.” Palms come up in front of him, as if caressing the very image of his special someone. “His beauty was otherworldly… It seared so deeply into the recesses of my memory, I have no doubt that once I catch sight of him again, I will identify him with the swiftness of sound- No, light!”

He clenches his hands into fists, before his strength leaves him in a sigh.

“That is, if I can find the enigmatic boy. I have not caught sight of him since that fateful day. Ah… ” He withers. “To think God could be so cruel to whisk away my newfound muse.”

“Hm~” Wataru grins. He’s a little odd, if not motivated. “While I have taken a liking to this location, it’s not as if I can claim it as solely my own. You are welcome to make use of the space as well.”

“Truly? Then I thank—” “At a price.”

The boy blinks.

“I may hold no claim, that is true, but general etiquette dictates that one should yield to whoever preceded~”

The boy makes a small noise of distaste, yet asks him nonetheless, “What would I stake?”

“It’s nothing terribly arduous,” Wataru says. “I wish to act with you.”

“Act? Though acting may hold some interest for me as an artist, I’m by no means trained in it. From what I could gather before I interrupted you, it seems you possess quite the skill. You wish to practice with an amateur like me?”

“Unlike others, you’ve shown me no sign of intimidation, but rather open mindedness to my request.” When bewilderment begins to blossom on the boy’s face, Wataru adds, “I would find it an interesting challenge to draw out your potential, however amateurish.”

The boy smiles. “Then, I suppose I could give a verse or two a try.”

 

 

———

 

 

“That is all!”

Wataru sobs, squeezing the boy’s leg even tighter and gaining more skid marks across his body. “But this is merely the second day of our practice!”

“I only came to properly inform you of my forfeiture from drama.” The boy grunts, dragging his leg and Wataru in front of him again. “My goal is to find that beautiful boy, but with how hellish your theatrical vision is, hah, there is no way I will be able to dedicate my focus on finding him! There are, nngh, other buildings with rooftops!”

Perhaps he’s grown greedy. It’s already a gift in and of itself, to find someone that lasted a day, but to wish for more?

“You praised this rooftop for its centrality on campus grounds, did you not?”

“I did! But I will simply visit-” Scrape. “Other ones…!” Scraaape. “In rotation!”

Wataru loosens his grip, letting the boy’s leg slip out and narrowly save the boy from tripping over. “Let me amend the script.”

“Wh-?” The boy whips his head around. 

Pressing more of his weight on his hands, Wataru lifts his upper body from the ground. His bangs obscure the boy in a curtain, parting once he tilts more of his head upward. The last of his tears dry, and his eyes embolden in passion akin to what he’s witnessed from the boy the day prior.

“It will be a script without dialogue, such that the entirety of your memory is dedicated to that boy. It will be one that utilizes the totality of the perimeter here, such that there will be no moment your motive will not be realized.”

The boy raises an eyebrow. “And what sort of script would that be?”

Standing up, Wataru holds a hand out. He watches the boy’s eyes flicking down from his face, to his offering, then back up, until he warily turns his body and accepts him.

He pulls the boy into a stance that seems familiar to him—one fit for a standard waltz. A giddy feeling flutters, but Wataru compartmentalizes it in favor of his purposeful visage. He guides the two of them over to the railing, in a series of one-two-threes, ending with a dip. And after letting the boy take in the view, he brings them over to another side of the railing for another.

“…Is this simply not a dance?” The boy looks at him from the ground below, maintaining the position of his head. “I was under the impression you wished to act.”

“Think of it as one if you’d like.” If the day comes where his heart will be open to the world of theater again, he will invite him without prejudice. Until then, he will meet him where he is to draw out the narrative. “If that makes you amenable to it.”

Rotating his head just slightly, to where they could nearly kiss, the boy continues to consider him.

“I fail to see how you can be pleased having such a large component of most scripts missing. But this would be less taxing than going to-and-fro, from building to building…” Uprighting himself, with the help of Wataru’s hand, he exhales. “As long as your lead isn’t as vertigo-inducing as yesterday.”

“Aha~ No need to fret.” Wataru laughs, spinning them into a grand revolution. “You can leave the calculated control of steps to your very own Hibiki Wataru ☆”

“Gah, you’re not helping your case!”

 

 

———

 

 

There’s a part of Wataru that continues to be pleasantly surprised when the boy comes. It’ll be during lunch, afterschool, or occasionally earlier in the morning, but his entrances are punctual for each sliver of time he chooses. And the way he approaches him is business-like as well—wasting no time getting into position.

The Leader never speaks, so Wataru doesn’t either. That is what he’s promised. Instead, it is a dialogue of entirely body language alone.

Day by day, step by step, they continue in earnest. What starts as a steady grip on Wataru’s hand, pressing him with respect befitting a colleague, gradually molds into a delicate grasp with a touch more warmth. Whether the boy intuits the natural progression of their partnership to lead to such a result, or if it’s the boy growing more comfortable, Wataru can only guess, and that goes for The Leader as well.

But it becomes less of a guess as their metronome continues to tick, with the subtle slopes on the boy’s face continuing to be contoured by shades of late sunrise, noon, and early dusk. Each dip they make progressively summons that all-too-familiar echo within Wataru, and for the first time since they’ve genuinely started, the boy focuses his gaze from the ground floor over to him, when Wataru shifts to carry more of the boy’s weight, one afternoon. 

The boy stares.

And Wataru stares back.

A rise, a fall. Their chests fill and deflate with each second passing in an almost laborious way, despite the care Wataru has put towards their choreography to not needlessly tire the boy out. Just one question uttered, of what Wataru is to do after the boy finds his special someone, and one answer—of the usual comfort—could bring about the boy’s ruin. While they mirror an earlier scene, of Wataru proposing the amendment of their script, they were not so involved as to risk deviation back then; one wrong movement here could spell doom as well.

Yes, it could spell a wrongful end if there is no course correction.

Peck.

“Wh-” The boy’s eyes widen and he escapes Wataru’s embrace, backing up further than necessary. “Wh- Wh-?” His hand hovers near his face. “What did you just do?”

For a character like the boy, this will surely anger him. “The emotions of the scene called for the climax of intimacy between our characters. I was simply acting it out~?”

The boy’s wide stare gradually morphs into something critical, and he mutters, “Just when I thought you…”

“Hm?” Wataru tilts his head. “Should I have further appealed to my perversions here too?”

“Agh!” The boy huffs, then straightens his posture, assuming the cool, regal look about him from their first meeting. “That’s it. I’ve entertained you for far longer than I should have. Consider the kiss to be my parting gift to you, because I am through!” He turns, heading to the door of the stairs. “We shall not. Speak of this. Ever!” He glares at him, cementing the acknowledgment of their vow, before rotating the knob. “Good day to you!”

Thud. The series of footsteps the boy makes echo through the door, quieting when he reaches the landing, and once more after the next flight. Once the sound fully fades, Wataru looks to the railing, down below to the second story of the connected building, after making a few of his own steps.

It’s too far to make out, and the walls separating windows obscures bits of him at a time, but the boy still seems flustered following the winding change of elevation and lengthy halls. He nearly lets his roll of fabric he’s recently obtained (or re-obtained) fall within his grasp, and his lips flap in a small mutter of sorts, while the rest of his body walks exaggeratedly “normal” in an attempt to forget their last scene. How cute.

Just when Wataru thinks they might meet eyes one more time, something catches the boy’s attention from even further below. He gapes with an open mouth before he leans his body out of a window and points downward. 

“YOU!” his voice booms, scattering perched birds in the near distance.

Like an owl—with pinpoint accuracy on its prey—he dives, leaving his roll of shimmery fabric to float and settle on the edge of the window sill.

Wataru’s eyes widen, watching him land a few feet in front of a blonde. 

“AHHH!”

The blonde takes off with long leaps despite his short stature, gaining considerable distance with each propulsion of his arches, much like a rabbit.

“Wait! Come back!!”

The boy’s knee gives out momentarily when he straightens himself in a step, ignoring the countless stares around him to rush after the blonde.

Wataru chuckles. 

Splendid! It appears he’s found him. This might not have happened had the boy lost sight of his goal, now. Ah~ Truly, it has been a lovely time between the both of them. A bit unfortunate that it’s truly over, yet a joyous conclusion to one of their conflicts nonetheless.

Should another script bring the two of them together again, he thinks he’d welcome the reunion—and should the opportunity arise for him to be the one to weave another script, even better. But, for now…

He places his hand a few inches above his head, grasps phantom fabric, then brings it to his chest in a short bow. “I wish the two of you happiness.”

 

 

 

A gaze is upon Wataru again, burning with an intensity that has intrigued him since his new role as a second year. For the most part, he has kept to himself, and he hasn’t been fortunate enough to attract worthwhile attention from any shiny new first years. Until now, it seems. It almost reminds him of the discerning, almost-judgmental eyes of that boy from the rooftop—but with more bloodlust.

Fufu.

Abruptly stopping in his tracks, he turns his head and flashes a smile towards a redhead from the adjacent hallway.

Not a flinch, not a budge, the redhead stands with some kind of grudge. 

“Are you in need of something?”

The redhead’s frown deepens.

“Ah, you needn’t be shy~” Wataru encourages. “Do feel free to ask for any directions you may be in want of.”

“People like You…” he mutters.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.” Wataru leans in with a hand cupping his ear. “Could you repeat your request?”

Still, the boy remains shy of word, but intimate in his gaze. 

After a few more moments pass between them, recognition strikes Wataru. Aha… Could it be that when he practiced his magic that one day, he had an audience after all? Envy, or perhaps jealousy, is very much evident now~ Despite how fiery the redhead’s eyes are, burning a warm, warm gold, the hint of green cannot be mistaken from up so close.

Such feelings could give way for a dynamic rivalry between them!

Wataru narrows his eyes, maintaining his smile. Stepping even closer, he subtly tilts his head and asks, “Or… like a card that only you should be able to see, are you challenging me to guess your issue correctly?”

“Nn-” The redhead flushes, stepping back and bringing up a defensive arm. “Go Away!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That command is lacking.” He slides behind the boy in one fluid motion, chastely caressing his body as he does. “My doves would only flock off listlessly with that sort of projection.” As he slides his hands to the boy’s wrists to grab and place upon his chest, he continues to advise, “It must be from the heart!” The boy’s hands are guided outward, as if giving an offering. “Go away!” The hands return then leave once more. “Go away!”

With a jerk of his arm, the redhead grunts and escapes his puppeteering. “Knock it off!”

“Yes! That’s more like it.” Wataru chuckles. “If you’re in a hurry to your next lesson, I understand, but I hope to be seeing you around~”

“…I hope that isn’t the Case, Nii-san. ”

Wataru shivers, hugging his own arms as the redhead stalks off. His moniker oozes with sarcasm, yes, but it is a respectable one nonetheless! 

Before the redhead rounds the corner of the hallway, he bumps into another boy, locks eyes with him—with the same intensity he had for Wataru—then aggressively steps around the boy.

Oh… Wataru’s heart shatters into pieces, before it quickly amends itself. No, that’s right. Even if the redhead has wandering eyes for other possible rivals, that simply means he has the ambition to back it up. And a possible triangle between them would be all the more amusing~

Step, step, step…

Releasing himself, Wataru greets the boy walking towards him with another warm smile.

“Oya, am I in the midst of a dream? Why, if it isn't an infamous senpai, out of his state of slumber. I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

“Well, well. It’s you.” Coming to a stop just a bit away, the boy raises an eyebrow. “Last year, I’ve also seen ya up top every so often. Sun was always glimmerin’ off o’ ya though, it hurt to look. So forgive me for not bein’ too acquainted, won’tcha?” The boy grins, then glances down at the tie around Wataru’s neck. “But now that I can have a better look, doesn’t seem like I'm your senior anymore.”

“Indeed. In celebration of advancing a year, I’ve decided to be proper and attend my correct courses—at least for a short while—but I don’t think I’ve seen you at all during class recently.”

The boy shrugs. “It’s the same old, same old. Don’t think I missed much either.”

“Mm~? With that line of thinking, it’s no wonder you’re repeating the year.”

Scoffing, the boy crosses his arms. “Is that sly tongue o’ yours the reason ya pissed off that lil’ one I just passed? Was even mad enough to glare at me. ”

Wataru wonders as well. What type of magic did that redhead find so enchanting? To the point of envy or jealousy, even. The magic that emerges from an eloquent tongue, bringing words from pages to life? Or was it one of his go-to scripts for magic tricks?

“Who knows~ I could offer a retelling, or a reenactment of what transpired. Which would you prefer?”

The boy raises a brow again, then smirks. “Hm, I dunno. Surprise me.”

Wataru surges forward and steps behind the boy, just as he did with the redhead. His hands trace the outline of torso as he skirts around him, bumping knuckles with elbow, until he slots himself comfortably against the boy’s back. “From the heart!” Grabbing and holding the boy’s hands close to his chest, he then leans closer to his ear to repeat it.

Peck.

Whoops- He has neglected to account for the curious turn of the boy’s head. The millisecond of surprise courses throughout Wataru’s being, but he preserves a flirty demeanor as he rolls with an alternate play. Releasing the boy as fluidly as he adhered himself to him, he says as matter of fact, “It was something to that effect.”

The boy blinks. ”Do ya have a habit of kissin’ people you’ve just met?”

“No.” Wataru continues smiling. “At least, not ones that don’t have my interest~”

“You’re crazy.” Wide-eyed, he huffs a laugh with a lopsided smile. “It’s only the beginnin’ of the term, and ya rattled that first year with that kinda impression?”

Wataru rests his hand on his chin and hums. “I may have exaggerated that a tad, but oh… ” He turns away, moving his hand to his heart. “I do hope my desire to get to know each other better was conveyed with just as much passion.”

Ding-dong, ding-dong… Ding-dong, ding-dong…

“Ah, we should hurry along before we’re casted as delinquents!” Wataru holds out a hand. “Shall we head to class together now?”

The boy adjusts his necktie, stepping in the opposite direction. “Nah. I have places to be. Places to slumber.”

Wataru cocks his head as he’s made to see the boy off. Lingering for just a moment more, he chuckles, issuing his warning in a voice the boy probably can’t hear. “Then, be careful I don’t become your senpai in the future, ‘Angel.’ ”

 

 

 

“Shisho, please…” Natsume cries, “Please reconsider…!”

The day has come. He is to be executed by the hero and his comrades. To have his corpse lay the foundation of a new kingdom.

He has flipped through his beloved Natsume’s notebook with speed one may criticize him for—that which is seemingly dismissive, and not truly appreciating the great efforts synthesized into a script. But with his practiced self, he could easily glean not only the passion behind every line, stage direction, and sketch, but the pitfalls of each narrative implication that accompanies the proposal.

The message he wishes to convey presents itself messily in his mind. It’s enmeshed in love, gratitude, and hurt, but most importantly, hope.

Since the moment the five of them have been casted in this tale, he’s cherished every jeer thrown at him, and every laugh he shared with companions he never could’ve imagined having. Yet, when it seemed that Natsume had begun elevating him into the role of his “Master”… he couldn’t help but be almost disappointed.

Therefore, Natsume-kun… in lieu of these words that would only get caught in my throat…

Peck.

Wataru slowly opens his eyes when his face leaves Natsume’s, and he smiles when he sees the delightful expression of shock. His hand removes itself from Natsume’s cheek, letting his face be the only focal point.

“Sh…” the rest of his title dies on his lips.

Has he truly conveyed these wishes of his this time? Ah, if after all, he was able to use magic this strong to convey them… How cruel.

Should the pain be too much for the boy to not omit in reminiscence, he would not fault him. It’s selfish, he knows. A part of him is honored that he occupies such a space within a heart, yet another feels guilt for burdening him so. What frightening turbulence. The distant echo is filled with countless evaluations of the events that led to this moment now.

Even still… If he dwells on it, he feels the smallest gap of emptiness emerging within the cacophony of emotions. It yearns to be filled with a future—one where he may exist as a simple “older brother,” where they may all live as mere human beings toiling away on this soil. Surely, that is the wish of that other pitiful child as well.

Looking up, in search of the auditorium’s side entrance, Wataru smiles.

“Isn’t that right, Rei?”